


your shadow is the only thing you own

by TheSushiMonster



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: A captain and a first mate. (Collection of drabbles about the relationship between Rip and Sara, including several AU prompts.)





	1. birthday hats and pink boas

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Rip & Sara, meeting at a party whilst drunk AU

He’s on his third bourbon of the night - maybe fourth, he’s decided to stop counting - when she leans over the bar and orders a round of tequila shots. Rip follows her gaze back to a table of ladies, all wearing birthday hats and pink boas. There’s one woman in a tiara, with ‘bride-to-be’ written in plastic gold across her shirt.

“When’s the wedding?” he asks, because he’s drunk and bored and, frankly, actually curious. He hates himself for it.

The blonde woman at the bar eyes his drink before shrugging. “No clue, don’t know them.” When Rip frowns, the corner of her lip curls upwards and she grabs her tray of shots. “The maid of honor’s gay.”

Rip doesn’t have a chance to remark because the woman returns to her - the? - table, welcomed to screams of her name - “Sara! Thank god - Lizzy was about to call her _boyfriend” -_ and Rip shakes his head. He nods towards the bartender, who fills up his glass again. He throws back the drink, wincing, and grabs his jacket. He turns to leave, only to find her - Sara - standing in front of him again.

“I prefer scotch for drowning in my sorrows,” she says, returning the shot glasses to the bar.

“I wasn’t - “

Sara puts up a hand. “Of course not. If you ever get over yourself and want to hang out with other drunk losers definitely not trying to hide from some deep, dark issues - “ she points over to the other corner of the room, half in the shadows, half glowing in yellow light, a large table occupied by several figures, including two who were arm-wrestling - “join us.” 

Rip opens his mouth and then closes it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sara grins, eyes twinkling. “See you next week.”


	2. the ink that haunts her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "rip/sara + soulmate AU"

Sara has tried before to remove the tattoo on her wrist; she’s tried lasers and makeup and even cutting off her hand, but always failed. So eventually, she gives up. She ignores the inked “I’m married” and moves on with her life.

She dates others - women, men. She loves some of them too. But the dark spot on her wrist haunts her. It haunts those she fall for, as well, for they usually leave her - a few times by circumstance, but several for their soulmates.

In the end, she meets him while she’s in love with a lovely woman and hanging out at a crowded bar. The only empty booth is in the corner, but a man sits there alone.

“Hey, would you mind if my girlfriend and I join you?” asks Sara, flashing a smile and accidentally bending forward.

“I’m married,” he says quickly, without thinking, and that must be it because she’s frozen, staring and he’s staring too because the vibrations are finally processed into his brain and then - 

“It’s you,” he says. He pulls back the sleeve on his dark brown coat that matches the seat he sits in. There’s nothing there.

Sara quickly glances at her wrist. The ink that’s haunted her for so long - finally, it’s gone. And she feels her heart break.


	3. hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The deadline for Phil’s thesis proposal is fast approaching and he’s freaking out.” Rip as Phil debates who should be the hero in his film.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometime pre-"Raiders", contains spoilers for that episode.

The deadline for Phil’s thesis proposal is fast approaching and he’s freaking out.

He has most of it down - he’s got a general outline of a storyline, he’s got a setting and time period and he’s already got friends who’ve agreed to help out. The script isn’t written yet, although he’s written scenes here and there, but he does have all the characters fleshed out. His villain has a name, a backstory, and a nefarious purpose. There are supporting characters - and there’s a lot - all with backgrounds completely fleshed out and he’s explored each of their motivations for joining the journey.

It’s the protagonist that’s the problem. There are so many characters, and Phil can’t seem to figure out which one is the _hero_  in this story. 

There are so many options - the engineer bonded to the old professor, or the reformed criminal, or his partner, or the reincarnated woman with mythological powers - or perhaps, the pirate who brings the team together…

No, Phil doesn’t think so - it doesn’t feel right.

It’s only when he’s on the brink of sleep - the dim light of his desk lamp casting shadows in his room, clothes scattered across the floor and faint smell of dirty laundry mixed in with the stench of smoke - that it occurs to him.

Sandra. The blonde assassin, given a purpose and a reason to fight, a family to fight with her, _for_ her - a team to lead. Phil blinks past the tiredness to hold onto this thought - that Sandra, despite her past and horrors, does not need to be saved. She needs to _save_ , to lead, and during the journey, she can grow and learn and love.

And Phil grins, grabbing scrap paper from underneath the mess of his desk, to scribble notes to himself - _Sandra = hero, must prove herself during journey, has supporting team to help her defeat the villain._ He taps his pen against the table once, staring at his own handwriting, before his grin transforms into a beam. Placing the pen behind his ear, he clips his notes to the rest, bound together with a clip.

Phil stretches as he stands and shuts off the lights in his room. For the first time in a long time, he collapses onto his bed, snuggles into the covers, and falls asleep with a smile on his lips and her name on his tongue.

He’s excited.


	4. You Know That I'm No Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I don’t know how to make things right. So I’ll just keep pretending that nothing’s wrong. (you know that I’m no good)" + ripsara

After Rip returns, he leaves.

He doesn’t tell anyone, but they all know. Sara knows. Mick, loudly and without hesitation and to no one’s surprise, voices it - “He killed you. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near you.”

Sara knows this, but it still hurts. It hurts more than the knowledge that Rip killed her - he’s running. He’s scared.

If Rip is scared, Sara is terrified.

It doesn’t take much to track him down - he’s sloppy, probably devastated, and likely not trying too hard to hide either. Sara finds him at a bar wearing his trench coat despite the heater turned all the way up and a glass of Scotch in his hand.

Sara watches him throw back the entire drink. The tiny tick in his jaw is the only betrayal of the alcohol’s effect. She sighs, and makes sure her footsteps are loud.

“Go away.” He’s trying to be harsh, biting, but it comes across as sad. Lonely. Begging.

“I don’t want to.” She sits beside him and grabs his second drink before he can. For a moment, there hands brush and Rip looks at her. She doesn’t look back. She takes a sip. “What are you doing, Rip?”

“Drinking,” he says, taking back his glass. He slams the cup down. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be near me.”

Sara places a hand on his arm. “Rip - “

“Sara. Please.” His voice cracks and fingers shake against the glass in his hands. Sara’s heart hurts. “I need - “ 

There’s a tiny, small, minuscule and basically non-existent part of her that wants him to say _you_. The thought flitters across her mind in an instant and then disappears again.

Especially when he continues. “I need time.” He tightens his grip. “Please give me time.”

“Okay,” she says, her hand still on his arm. Her thumb strokes the leather of his jacket. “But don’t ask me to give you space.”

Rip looks at her now, silent and grieving and processing, but Sara finally, _finally_  sees what she’s been missing for so many months now - his eyes, kind and sad and deep, shine.

Sara smiles. He’ll be okay. They’ll be okay.


	5. Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I think I’ve been holding myself back from falling in love with you all over again.” + time canary

Rip doesn’t know why it’s a habit for him now, but without thinking, he reaches out to stroke Sara’s face. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, for the third day in a row, because he’s _so sorry._

Sara smiles and leans into his touch. “I know.” She moves closer to him and her hand rests on his arm. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.”

In theory, Rip knows this. Sara has told him, for three days now, and he believes her - he does. But there’s something nagging at him that wants to escape, especially now with her face inches away from his.

“Sara.” His voice is low and Sara’s smile fades slightly. Maybe she can sense his nerves. Or maybe she knows exactly what he’s going to say and do and doesn’t want him to say or do it. “Sara, I - “

She kisses him before he can get the words out, stuck in his throat and choking him. But her lips on his is a breath of fresh air - she’s warm and sunshine and _alive._ The kiss is soft, yet firm, and Rip lays his hand on her waist.

After a moment, she pulls back, her forehead resting against his. He breathes her in. “Why did you do that?” he asks. His thumb draws circles on her hip.

“You were holding back.” Her nose lingers against his check but she pulls away just slightly to catch his gaze. “Why?”

Sara is beautiful, standing there, her eyes focused on him and her hand resting on his cheek. Rip swallows and lets out a sigh. “I was afraid of falling in love with you all over again.”

Her mouth opens, closes, and then thins all in quick succession. Rip doesn’t looking away from her eyes, though.

And Sara kisses him again, harder this time, with heart and fire, and Rip pulls her closer. If he’s going to fall in love again, he wants it to be with her.


	6. soft thighs and pink lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Okay here we go.. RipSara handcuffed together.."

Rip wants to close his eyes, massage his temples, and disappear into the darkness. Unfortunately, he can only do the first of those things - his hands, currently, are otherwise occupied.

“When I said ‘hey Sara, let’s pretend to get locked in a closet to distract the guards,’” he practically hisses over his shoulder, “I did not mean _let’s actually get locked in a closet.”_ His hands tense in their restraints, his wrist rubbing uncomfortably against the ropes. Sara’s finger bends into his palm, giving him a slightly scratch.

“It’s not my fault you decided to make out with me _after_  Mick had already blown our cover.” Rip feels Sara’s head moving around, likely scanning the room for something to use for escape. In his eye-line, all he sees is shelves of paper and a table covered in boxes. “I have a knife under my dress, but I can’t reach it like this. We need to break the chairs apart.”

Rip sighs. “On three we both stand? I think we’re just tied together, not to the actual chair.” Sara nods and Rip rolls his eyes. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

“ _Yes_ , Rip.”

“Three - “ and they both stand on their chairs, the ropes following them. “Jump down on - “ Sara jumps without warning and Rip almost falls on his face. “Damn it, Sara!”

“You were taking too long. Obviously these guys are idiots, tying us up like this, but they’re gonna be back soon.” Sara pulls the ropes and Rip feels his back up flush against hers. He probably blushes and he’s incredibly glad she can’t see him. 

The ropes, too big for their bodies pressed up against each other, fall away.

Sara spins around and Rip freezes. She’s so close - he can smell her lavender perfume and the glitter on her cheeks stands out in the dim lighting of the closet and her lips are so _pink_  - and then he jumps when she slams her leg up on her chair.

Sara nods towards the knife on her thigh, now visible under the slit of her dress. “Would you like to do the honors or shall I?” Her smirk grates him, but he’s still very much aware of her breathe on his face.

Rip rolls his eyes, sighs _deeply,_ and uses his bounded hands to slip the knife out of its holster - pointedly ignoring how soft her inner thighs are - and cuts her free first.


	7. Cuddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "ripsara sharing a bed"

Rip offers to make a barrier in between them with pillows, but Sara laughs at him, collapsing quickly on the bed. “I promise I won’t cuddle you if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Rip just grunts in response, shedding his trench coat and pants. Standing awkwardly in a undershirt and boxers, he slowly crawls under the covers. Sara, already dressed down to leggings and a tank, watches him - well, admires - hands cradled behind her head.

“Goodnight, Ms. Lance.” Rip faces the other wall, turning off the lamp on his side of the hotel room. 

Sara shakes her head. “Goodnight Rip.” She also turns off her lamp, but pauses a minute, watching his stiff shadow adjust. He’s not relaxed. Once the darkness settles over him, she turns to face his back. Quietly, she gently squeezes his shoulder, her thumb running across his neck, before pulling back. Rip glances behind to her and nods.

She doesn’t know when she falls sleep; she does know when she snaps awake, Rip shaking beside her, curled up tightly, sobs and cries whispered in his sleep.

“ _No_  - no no - not them, _please_  - “ 

Her heart hurts and she immediately reaches out. “Rip - “ Gently, she shakes him. Slowly, Rip turns on his back, blinking rapidly, as if tears - Sara holds his arm. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Rip takes in deep breaths and Sara balances on her elbows, watching him. She’s seen him in dark places, seen him give up and get back up again - she’s seen him as he sees him, in his own mind. But this - this vulnerability and the struggle to regain control - it still aches.

Rip closes his eyes. “Sorry.” He sighs, looking at her, a small smile on his face. “Sorry for waking you.”

Instead of answering, Sara rests her head between his shoulder and his chest. She lies an arm on his stomach and Rip strokes her arm. His breathing slows eventually, and Sara looks up at him. He’s smiling.

She smiles too before falling back asleep.


	8. maybe someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "time canary + 78 "Do you want to come too?”"

Rip pauses midway through the hallway and turns around. Sara feels her heart stop, just for that moment. “Do you want to come too?”

His words echo softly between them, not really a serious question, but Sara feels like it deserves a serious answer. But before she can, Rip shakes his head. “I mean - of course, not now. You have other matters to attend to,” he says, and there’s almost a wryness in his voice and that makes her smile.

“Like a team of dysfunctional individuals who happen to possess superpowers?” Sara leans against the wall, arms still crossed. “Maybe someday, Rip.” His name feels foreign on her tongue, like it’s not supposed to be there anymore. She hates that.

Eyes twinkling, Rip smiles. “I’ll hold you to that. Someday - you and me - maybe we’d find a good time period, settle down there.” He adjust his bag, looking at his feet. “I’d like that.”

Sara steps towards him, wants to close the distance entirely, but instead she lets her arms fall to her side. Instead, she just stares. “Me too.” Her heart aches, as if it wants to escape her chest and stow away in his bag. But Sara lets out a deep sigh. “And you’re sure you need to go?”

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll miss you, Rip.” The words escape her before she can reign them in, but now that’s they’re gone so doesn’t want to take them back.

He looks up, finally, and tilts his head. There’s no smile on his face. “I’ll miss you too.”

And he turns and leaves, and Sara wishes he doesn’t take half her heart with him.


	9. when you're ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.” + ripsara

When Rip enters the Jumpship, he sighs loudly.

“Who would have thought this would be it, GIdeon?” For a moment, he expects a cool response, her comforting voice - _and what exactly do you mean by it, Captain?_ \- but of course, Gideon does not respond and instead Rip sighs again.

He drops his bag onto the floor and moves immediately to the piloting chair. He needs to leave, immediately, before he changes his mind or someone from the team sneaks on board, because of course they would, and he would have to spend _more time_ trying to convince Sara - and himself - that this was the right decision, but perhaps if he’s spending so much mental energy -

When he collapses on the chair, Rip sits on a paper. Frowning, he pulls out the letter, his thumb thoughtlessly running across the ink on the envelope. His name, neatly printed in almost unfamiliar handwriting, stares back.

Cautiously, he pushes his finger across the tape holding together the letter - and despite the size of the paper, the note is short.

_Dear Rip,_

_If you’re reading this, then I was right. You’re running._

_Fine._

_Take all the time you need, Rip. But this team needs you, no matter what you think. And you will always have a place here, among legends._

_And for what it’s worth - I’ll still be here when you’re ready._

_\- Sara_

_(PS. I hope you’re ready soon.)_

Rip blinks. Once, twice - instead of blinking again, he carefully refolds the letter and pockets it. He doesn’t let himself think too much, just reciting the words over and over in his head, as he pulls the Jumpship from the Waverider, punching in a random destination - anything to get away, put some space between him and _them_  - her.

(A few weeks later, sometime after he finds a mammoth wandering beneath the Eiffel Tower and King Louis XIV playing with a smart phone, Rip crashes into the team again - literally - and after he yells at them for breaking time, he pulls Sara aside.

“I’m not ready yet,” he says. Sara frowns, perhaps debates saying something else - but then grins instead.

“You said yet.”

Rip can’t help but smile too. “I did.”

He’s not ready for several months, but Rip keeps the letter in his pocket the entire time.)


	10. Outlining Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "I can feel your heart beating." + Africa by Toto

Sara throws open the door to his office, clearly heated, a knife aimed squarely an inch to the left of his ear.

Calculated, even in anger.

“Miss Lance,” he says, focusing his energies on the folder in his hand as he leans against the front of his desk. He flips over a sheet of paper. “How can I help you?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Rip?” Stomping over to the wall, she pulls out the knife and her foot slams onto the desk as she slips the knife back into its holder on her ankle. Rip slides a paper back into the folder before pulling out a new one. Standing up again, she faces his completely, arms crossed and glaring. “The team - ”

“Lacks the resources and competencies to complete the task at hand.” Rip doesn’t look at her, instead focusing on the papers stuffed into this folder - papers, honestly, that could be scribbled with gibberish, for he has barely looked at a single piece. “I’ve merely assembled a team with more experience in these matters. Your team - ”

“ _Your_ team.” Rip freezes and Sara perhaps moves closer. “ _You_ are the one who assembled our team, picked us.” Her voice softens, and perhaps that’s why he looks up. “Our team is better than you think.”

“You are a great captain, Sara.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to mirror hers. But like so much of him when Sara Lance is around, Rip finds himself a reflection of her.

But Sara shakes her head. “You were a great captain too, Rip.”

He swallows.

And maybe she notices, because she’s so close, her angry breathing slowly calming while his speeds up. Because  _she’s so close_  and no matter how hard he tries to hold up the wall between them, his heart beats faster and her lips are very pink.

“Sara - ”

She kisses him, hands in his hair and lips against his teeth. There’s a pause, where she slowly eases back, loosens her grip just slightly, and Rip - Rip blinks, rapidly, trying to listen to the yelling in the back of his head - but the screaming in his chest is too loud, too overwhelming, especially when Sara exhales and bites her lip, suddenly  _nervous_  - 

Rip drops the folder onto his desk and grabs her waist.

Her startled laugh morphs quickly into a grin, and he kisses her with perhaps more force than he intends - because his heart has been hers for a long while now, and to have permission to hold her like this, to  _kiss_  her like this - self-control is little, and affection and attractive is much more. So he cradles her cheek and opens his mouth and licks her teeth and nips at her lip. And Sara pushes towards the couch in his office, removing his jacket - and hers - as his hand lingers over the skin beneath her blouse.

And when he collapses onto the couch, Sara standing above him - grinning and blushing and flushed and determined - Rip stares in awe.

This is happening.

This is  _happening_.

And Sara straddles him, her hands running over his chest, and her lips leaving kisses along his jaw. And Rip kisses her back, across her shoulders and her neck and her ears - whispering silent apologizes, promises - ones he knows she’ll never accept, but he has to give anyway. Because even as they push further, together and completely, Rip understands that this is just what it is.

He is Rip, she’s Sara, and this is  _happening._

And even if he left the Waverider to escape this - to escape  _her_  - it’s going to take a lot to drag him away from her. Life, it seems, wants this - wants him to run his fingers along her ribs, wants her moan into his mouth and squirm beneath his touch. 

So Rip isn’t going to complain. He enjoys. He enjoys himself, he enjoys  _her_.

And later, when she lies on his naked chest, her finger outlining scars across his body, she whispers into his skin: “I can feel your heart beating.”

Rip believes it’s because he gave it to her a long time ago.


	11. know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "pretending to be a married couple" + jax&sara

Jax leans against her doorway, arms crossed in that too-careful way. Sara’s pretty sure he does it both to annoy her and to check out his own biceps.

“Can I help you?”

Jax smirks. “You could have picked any two people to be the married couple - ”

“We are not having this conversation.” Sara pulls out a knife from her bag.

Ignoring her, Jax steps into her room and leans against the bed post. “For instance, the  _actually dating_  couple, or even Ray, who’s the  _expert_ on nanotechnology - ”

“Who said you could come in?” She almost cuts her ankle as she sheaths the knife into its holster. “And why are you still talking?”

“Now I could get you wanting to do it yourself.” Jax’s eyes twinkle and Sara almost slides out the knife again, just for something to do. Instead, she stands straight and turns her back to her second, fully concentrating on counting the weapons on her person. “But Rip?  _Married_? Really?”

Sara falters at knife number three, her hands slipping past her waist. She glances backwards - Jax still grins widely with mischievous eyes and no intention of leaving.

She sighs. “It makes the most sense.” Her eyes carefully meet his. “Gotta keep an eye on him.”

The grin flickers; Jax’s face softens. “You know he lov - ”

“I know.”

“You know you - ”

“I  _know_.” She doesn’t mean to sound frustrated. But she is. Sighing again, she straightens her dress and pulls back her shoulders. “Just say it.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “It’s no fun if you  _agree_.”

Sara rolls her eyes, offers her arm to Jax, and the two of them leave together, Jax biting back a grin the entire way.


	12. False Pretenses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i thought you said you were a doctor"

“I thought you said you were a doctor.”

Rip groans, running a hand through his hair - several times, in fact, as the woman ( _Sara_ , she had said, before pushing him into the closet, alone) continues to stand in front of him.

Naked.

He’s staring at a point over her shoulder - there’s an open can of white paint, the side colored with drips and it sits beside a tray of unclean brushes, streaked in colors - reds and greens and yellows and a dark navy - 

“Helloooo,” she says, waving her hand in front of his face. “Are you even going to look?”

Rip clears his throat; there’s a fly perched on the third shelf from the top, circling the containers of bleach. “I am not  _that_  kind of doctor, Miss - ”

“Sara,” she says again, and even though he’s studying the vents sending dust swirling just above their heads, Rip notices that she stands with her hands at her hips now. “So you just lured me into a dark closet and got me naked on false pretenses?”

“I did no such - ”

To his horror, Rip looks down. Later, he’ll adamantly deny looking anywhere other than her face - smirking, glittering eyes - but in the moment - 

Rip gulps. 

Sara grins wider. “I suggest we take advantage of the situation.”

Rip looks up, at the ceiling - falling apart, grey, very dirty - but Sara steps closer. She’s warm. His throat is so dry. “Miss Lance - ”

“I’ll let you call me Miss Lance if I can give you a blowjob.”

“ _Sara_  - ” The fly circles her head, but Rip stares straight at her. She bites back a smile, and Rip doesn’t know why that makes his chest ache. “You should put your clothes back on.”

There’s a beat - a heart beat, where the warmth of her naked body is very evident to every part of him, including the inner walls of his ribs. Then Sara shrugs and rehooks her bra. “Suit yourself.” Rip returns to staring at everything else as Sara dresses. When she speaks again, he hazards a glance. 

She’s wearing a shirt, at least. “If you ever change your mind,” she says, before pulling up her jeans, “or your profession - ” The zip is loud and clashing and Rip needs a drink. “You know where to find me.”

And she leaves, blonde hair completely messy and her bright blue bra strap visible,  and Rip waits a minute before ordering a Scotch.


	13. Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "nobody needs fake friends"

Sara doesn’t wince when she sees him.

Barely.

Even when he looks up, eyes hard and dirt caked onto his new scruff, she doesn’t let her face fall. She’s impassive, hard, unreadable.

She hopes.

The cell shuts behind her, the orange of his jumpsuit glowing in the dim lights. Without speaking, she moves closer; she doesn’t wince when he frowns deeper, or straightens out, opening his chest to her - 

She just sinks down beside him on his messy cot, pulling a blanket over both of them. 

“Sara - ?”

Shaking her head, she crosses her legs and leans on his shoulder. “Not now.”

So he squeezes her hand instead - brief, quick, just a flicker of his skin over hers - his fingers lingering over the frayed orange sleeve of her own jumpsuit.


	14. Sleeves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave"

Sara’s angry.

She’s acknowledged that anger. She’s found a solution to it. And in a moment, once the…  _situation_  is handled, she’ll find an outlet for it.

Probably a punching bag.

Or a sparring partner.

But until then -

“It’s up to you now.”

He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds calm, resigned; sure, he spent a grand total of thirty seconds arguing his case to his boss - but when his eyes turn to her, he’s  _resigned_. He understands.

He understands  _her_.

Anger wars with a little guilt. She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, and stays silent.

She can’t look away.

Somehow, he shakes off his handlers - but he doesn’t try to run away. He gets closer, to her, and his fingers are on her elbows, tugging at her sleeves. Even though she should pull back, Sara doesn’t, just stands straighter, stiffer. And when he whispers into her ear -  _I believe in you_  - maybe a new emotion rises too.

Sadness.

Her arms loosen and her fingers tangle with his, just for the moment.

She refuses to look anywhere other than directly in his eyes.

“I wish you could trust me as much as I trust you.”

And then she can’t feel him, can’t touch him - can’t see him either, as he disappears into a vortex somewhere else, sometime else - 

(Later, before Sara sinks into her chair, the wardrobe door, already only half-closed, opens more. Without thinking, without hesitation, she walks over to it.

She can only bring herself to tug at the sleeve of the trench-coat before she shuts the door and locks it.)


	15. before we jump (we got better)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "before we jump"

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Rip raises an eyebrow, glancing to his left. “Is the great Sara Lance  _hesitating?”_

Sara shoots him a glare but keeps her face forward. Her arm tightens against his. “No.” Her sigh is loud but Rip feels her relaxing, somewhat, beside him. He kisses her hair. “No,” she says again.

“It’s okay to have second thoughts.” Rip breathes her in, resting his chin on her head. “I did, the first time.” His lips curl upwards. “And honestly, the second time too.”

Sara rolls her eyes. “If you hadn’t, I would’ve thought you were crazy.” She pulls back slightly and Rip mirrors her in order to get a good look at her face. Her smile is soft, despite her teasing. “Now I know you’re serious.”

“Sara Lance,” he says, his free hand moving to cradle her face. His thumb grazes her cheek and she leans into his touch. His heart beats stronger. “I have never been so sure of anything else in my life.”

Sara turns to kiss his palm. “Let’s do this, Director Hunter.”

“After you, Captain Lance.”

And as she leads them, arms interlocked and her dress in her hand and his back straight in his tux, she leans over to whisper, “you know, we never talked about my last name.”

The doors swing open. All eyes turn to them. 

Rip bites back a smile. “And you want to,  _now_?”

Sara grins. The first strains of the bridal march echo through the room. “Rip Lance. Sounds weird, doesn’t it?”

“Not as bad as Sara Hunter.” Her hand squeezes his bicep. “Rip Hunter and Sara Lance. A man and his captain.”

“Now that I like.” 

“I thought you would.”

And when they reach the end of the aisle, Sara steals a kiss; Jax wolf-whistles, Ray berates at them for their lack of patience, and Mick grumbles to get  _on_  with it so they can eat.

(They do get on with it, eventually, and they get married and they celebrate with dinner and drinks and dance. And when the night winds down, and Sara loses her shoes and Rip’s shirt is untucked, he’ll lean down and whisper in her ear, right there on the middle of the dance floor: “we got better.”)


End file.
